


The Variations on a Theme Affair

by jj_minerva



Series: Compromised Series [1]
Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-10
Updated: 2009-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jj_minerva/pseuds/jj_minerva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First story in the Compromised Series. Set in 1959, this story looks at the first mission that Napoleon and Illya undertake together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Variations on a Theme Affair

The Variation on a Theme Affair

 

New York: 1959

 

Part 1

 

For the first time in his life Napoleon Solo was speechless. He shifted in his seat, closed the file in front of him resisting the urge to send it spinning back around the table to his superior, cleared his throat and tried to think of something to say.

 

Across the table Alexander Waverley raised an eyebrow not waiting for a reply. “You seem a little surprised, Mr Solo!” he said slowly, his eyes searching Napoleon’s, weighing and measuring the young UNCLE agent.

 

Surprised was putting it mildly Napoleon thought to himself. Shocked was a far better description.  “Well, yes Sir, I am a little surprised. I never imagined that UNCLE agents would be required to ...perform…this sort of ..._thing_.”  Napoleon replied deciding honesty was the best policy.

 

“This _thing_ as you call it is a highly important mission, Mr Solo,” Waverley continued, “Please don’t forget that!” A hint of disappointment coloured his words.  

 

Waverley was correct. The mission was of the utmost importance. The opportunity to find the location of a new THRUSH network about to be established in Burdistan, a small country that was ripe for infiltration, was not one to be missed.  It would provide a valuable bargaining chip to win over the highly unstable government and help pave the way for an UNCLE Office to be established there as well. The only way to do it, however, was to plant a tracking device on the man who was going to head up the operation. Brian Monroe, a top level THRUSH operative and known homosexual would be leaving New York within the week to take up his new post. The assignment rested on the premise that Monroe would not risk facing the death sentence should his appetites become know in Burdistan, a conservative Muslim country. Instead he would satisfy his urges and indulge in one last ‘fling’ before he left home.  And if the Affair went according to plan, Napoleon was to be that fling.  

 

“You are right in one respect, Mr Solo.” Waverley continued. “It’s not the usual sort of service that we require from our agents, in fact it is rather rare in this particular country. In many ways the United States of America falls far behind her fellow nations in that respect. We are one of the few countries that does not provide our agents with at least a little training in this field.” He gave a short laugh. “It’s standard practice on the continent! And of course THRUSH thinks nothing of stooping to such measures.”

 

“I understand Sir, but surely there must be someone who would be better suited to do this?” Napoleon asked hopefully.  In his four years with UNCLE he had never refused an assignment, but this was something he would rather pass up.

 

Waverley sighed. “Unfortunately, no. It has been quite some time since we have needed someone for this type of operation and there are currently no field agents that we know of who have…shall we say, a leaning that way. There could well be someone but if there is they have been very discreet. We can’t just come out and start asking people about their sexual preferences, can we now Mr Solo?  That would never do.” Waverley shook his head.  “No, what we must do is look for the best man for the job. And that’s you Mr Solo. You seem to have all of the requirements. You were the first and might I add only agent that both myself and Mr Pallister considered for this assignment.”  Waverley fixed him with that stare again and smiled but it was hardly reassuring.

 

Napoleon paled. “Surely Mr Waverley, you don’t think that I…that is … that … I’m … like that.” How had his superiors come to such an outrageous conclusion?  Where could they have developed such an idea? Did they think he was a …homosexual? Napoleon could barley think of the word in the same sentence as himself let alone say it.  It wasn’t that he was unaware there were men like that, but rather that he had simply never given much thought to the whole idea. It was certainly not mentioned or discussed in his family and he had grown up oblivious to the notion. His short time with the military had opened his eyes to its existence, but it had been the subject of course humour and ribald barbs, usually directed at anyone who did not fit in or pull their weight. It was used as a taunt, a smear. It wasn’t something that a man would make known about himself, or so Napoleon supposed.  

 

Waverley was smiling again and waving his hand in a placating gesture. “No, no Mr Solo, no one thinks that of you. On the contrary; it’s your remarkable ability in seducing several female THRUSH operatives that recommends you to us.”  Waverley patted a file on the desk in front of him and Napoleon realised it was his own. Waverley had done his research. “You’re always willing to do anything that is asked of you when it comes to your assignments.  It’s one of the reasons you’ve risen so far in such a short space of time. Mr Pallister also assures me you have managed to seduce most of the young ladies in the typing pool, an accomplishment that should not be overlooked either. That, coupled with your youth and good looks makes you the perfect choice for this assignment. You’ve put yourself, body and soul, on the line before for UNCLE and never had a problem. Try to think of this as a variation on a theme.”

 

Variation on a theme was putting it lightly. To allow himself to be the one being seduced, the victim if you could put it in those terms, of a male THRUSH agent was not something Napoleon wanted to think about much less do.  For a brief moment he wondered if Jack Pallister, the Chief Enforcement Agent, had recommended him for this out of spite.  Pallister had spoken to him more than once about his casual flirtations with the office girls but surely he wouldn’t stoop this low. They were professionals after all and there was no denying that the mission was highly important. If Pallister was not currently on field assignment would the job had fallen to him? Probably not, Napoleon concluded, Pallister was nearly forty and if what Waverley said was correct the he would be considered too old for this particular scenario. He ran a little short in the looks department also, Napoleon thought with wry humour.

 

“I’m flattered that you and the CEA think so highly of me, Mr Waverley, but I question whether I have the necessary… skills to …. pull this off.” Napoleon winced at his own words.  This really was no laughing matter.

 

“This is a voluntary assignment Mr Solo. You can refuse,” Waverley replied, no mirth in his voice and a frown crumpling his already wrinkled forehead, “But it would be recorded in your file. I am sure you are aware that you are one of the agents who is being considered to fill the shoes of Mr Pallister when he retires from active service in the next couple of years. Turning down an assignment of this magnitude because of squeamishness would not be in your favour. I know it is a challenge but we have every confidence that you can rise to the occasion.”

 

Napoleon suppressed a groan and wondered if the double entendre was deliberate. Waverley seemed to have a perverse sense of humour at times. He took a deep breath, picked up the file in front of him and flicked through it once again. Could he do what was asked to make this Affair succeed?  There was no denying that the lure of the future position of CEA was a strong incentive.  Napoleon had joined UNCLE because he believed in their ultimate goals, but that didn’t mean he was without ambition. He also enjoyed the thrill of pushing himself to the limits; he was a risk taker. To succeed when the odds were stacked against you was a heady aphrodisiac.  If he could approach the Affair from that perspective, see it as a challenge then he just might be able to do it.

 

“I am flattered by your confidence in me Sir,” he spoke quickly before his courage failed. “Of course I’ll do it.”

 

“Good, good my boy. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint us.”  Waverley was all grandfatherly smiles again and Napoleon half expected him to pat him on the back in encouragement.  “See Mr Kuryakin in the labs for the necessary equipment. Tell him what you need it for and ask him to design something suitable. I understand he is quite good at making new …gadgets.” 

 

Napoleon stood up, gripping the file tightly in his hands. “I’ll get on it right away; the ‘Variation on a Theme Affair’” He smiled, hoping frivolity would lend him a confidence he did not feel.

 

“Yes, a very apt name Mr Solo. Good luck,” Waverley offered as the door shut silently.

 

 

 

Part 2

 

“So you need tracking devices that you can hide on the body and that will stay in place for several days, undetected, so that UNCLE can track this man’s movements and locate the new headquarters of a THRUSH operation?” Illya Kuryakin made a couple of notes on his writing pad before taking off his tinted glasses, folding them carefully and placing them in the pocket of his white lab coat.

 

“Yes, that’s about it.” Napoleon Solo replied dismally. “You don’t suppose it would be simpler to stick one on his luggage do you?” he asked hoping that there still might be an alternative. “It would be much less trouble.” Certainly for me, he thought.

 

Kuryakin appeared to consider the request seriously. “Well yes, it would be much simpler, but it is unlikely the man will take his suitcase about with him.” He shook his head, his blond hair fluttering slightly. “I presume we want to monitor his movements; find out who his contacts are? A suitcase would be left in his hotel room.”

 

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” Napoleon said unable to hide his lack of enthusiasm. 

 

“You don’t sound very sure about this assignment Napoleon.” Kuryakin said quietly. “Is there something the matter?”

 

Napoleon Solo would have described Illya Kuryakin as a casual acquaintance at best. He’d been introduced to the Russian when he had arrived almost a year ago and had been one of the agents assigned to show him around UNCLE headquarters. Since then, he’d had little contact with the man other than on official business. The occasional greeting in the hallway when they passed or the odd time when he had sat with Kuryakin in the cafeteria was the limit of their social interaction. The quiet Russian always seemed to have room at his table and Napoleon had surmised that he had few friends in the agency.  Understandable really; aside from the fact that he was Russian, Kuryakin was not the warmest of individuals offering little about himself by way of conversation. Even Napoleon had found it difficult fill in the awkward silences while they shared the occasional lunch table.  He chattered on about inconsequential matters; movies, sport and the current women he was dating in the hope Kuryakin might be drawn into the conversation but rarely succeeded. Illya seemed content to sit and listen, his blue eyes taking everything in with scientific detachment while he wolfed down whatever was passing for lunch that day.  

 

But now, looking into those pale blue eyes, Napoleon was surprised to find genuine concern. There were few people with whom Napoleon could discuss his fears about the forthcoming assignment owing to its classified nature. Waverley and Pallister were out of the question; there’d be little sympathy found there. The personnel down in Medical would be happy to listen but they would probably record anything he said in his file. That left Illya Kuryakin, the quite Russian who knew the ins and outs of the mission and was there to provide him with whatever technical support he needed. Not that this was Kuryakin’s area of expertise; the Russian was a scientist not a field agent, but Napoleon’s need to unburden himself was great and the sympathetic look in Illya’s blue eyes was too strong to be ignored.

 

“I’m a little unsure about this assignment,” Napoleon began, hoping he was not making a terrible mistake. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

 

“Never?” Kuryakin exclaimed, his voice incredulous. “You mean you’ve had no training in this sort of thing? Why would they send you if you have no training? Surely there is someone else? Someone who has experience.”

 

“Apparently not” Napoleon replied. “There are no field agents that fit the criteria so I’m the one they chose.”

 

 “Do you think you will be able to go through with it?” The Russian asked quietly. “It’s not an easy task.”

 

“I’ll have to, won’t I,” Napoleon replied.  “The success of the mission rests with me. Besides, I’ve been thinking about it and I might be able to plant the bugs without having to go too far. Perhaps I can get close enough, indulge in a little petting and then plead cold feet.”

 

Illya muttered something in Russian and shook his head. “I doubt this man will settle for a handshake and a goodnight kiss even if he realises you’re a virgin.”

 

Napoleon opened his mouth to protest the label but thought better of it when he realised Illya was right.  “Anyway,” he amended, “How hard can it be?” Napoleon ignored the roll of blue eyes. “I’ll do a bit of reading…there must be a book or something with practical information somewhere around. I’ll ask them down in Research.”

 

 “I’m sure that would help.” Illya snorted. “And if you are lucky there might even be pictures.”

 

Napoleon couldn't help smiling at the unusual display of dry humour. It was a side of Illya he had not seen before.  "And diagrams," Napoleon added joining in. "Place tab A in slot B." They both laughed, easing the tension. Perhaps this was the best way to approach it. Not to think too deeply but to keep it light and try to laugh about it afterwards. Napoleon's sanity depended on it.

 

But Illya turned serious and he dropped his voice. “The important thing Napoleon, is to distant yourself from it,” he said softly. “Don’t let it touch you, in here or in here.” Kuryakin moved his hand first to his head and then to his heart. “It will not make you any less of a man.”

 

Napoleon shivered, unsettled by Kuryakin’s words. He looked away suddenly uncomfortable with the turn their conversation had taken. “Yes, um, I’ll keep that in mind.” Napoleon changed the subject back to the task at hand. “Now tell me about these bugs. What do you suggest?”

 

“There I can help you,” Illya replied with a smile and opened a draw under the bench to pull out a small box. “You will need something that will not be detected or dislodged. For external placement I suggest these.” From the box he held up a small black spot no larger than a freckle.  “This is waterproof and adheres to both hair and skin. Try placing it in his armpit. If your man is not too careful when showering it can remain in place for at least a week.”

 

He’s not my man, Napoleon wanted to say, but he just nodded and remained silent.

 

“If his navel is indented, you could try placing one there. You’ll have to get it in deep, or it may be noticed. Similarly one placed well inside the ear could remain undetected for quite some time.” He handed the freckle to Napoleon who balanced it on his finger tip.

 

“And just how do you suppose I put them there?” Napoleon asked. “I doubt he’s going to want me sticking my finger in his navel or ear.”

 

“Not your finger Napoleon,” Illya replied with a slight twitch of his lips. “Your tongue of course.  If the target is not circumcised you could also try planting one under his foreskin using that method.”

 

Napoleon was shocked. The depth of detail was far more than he had expected from the quiet Russian. Illya had surprised him again. “You seem to know a lot about this sort of thing,” he challenged, aware that he was blushing while the Kuryakin remained cool and collected.

 

“I’ve done work for this type of Affair before.” Illya replied flatly.  “Now as for internal placement,” he continued in his business like manner rummaging around in the box again.

 

“Internal!” Napoleon choked, his face was flaming but no longer caring if Kuryakin noticed. He stood up quickly, dropping the freckle he had been holding. “Ah, I think we might leave that for tomorrow. I really should try to find that book first and do a bit of reading.”

 

“Yes Napoleon,” Illya tried to hide his smile as he packed the devices back into the box. “I think that would be a very good idea. I can show you the rest tomorrow. In the meantime I will get a few of these freckles ready for you.” 

 

“Thank you. Tomorrow then.” Napoleon was already headed towards the door and didn’t hear Illya’s quiet reply.

 

“Anytime my friend.”

 

 

 

 

Part 3.

 

The first thing Napoleon did when he returned to his desk in the small office that he shared with three fellow agents was arrange dates with four different young ladies for the rest of the week. He wasn’t over reacting, Napoleon told himself. He was just providing something to take his mind off the Affair. Kuryakin had told him that this wouldn’t make him any less of a man and he believed the young Russian. He briefly wondered how Illya had come by this information; he had spoken as if he had some insight and Napoleon assumed he had provided equipment for other field agents forced to do this sort of work. Had he spoken with them afterwards? Assessed their mental state in a coldly scientific way?  Even so, Kuryakin’s words gave him hope and he’d test the theory with the same four young ladies after this Affair was completed. 

 

Napoleon had almost built up the nerve to go down to Section 4 and ask if they had anything on homosexual seduction when a phone call came requesting him to report to Mr Waverley’s office immediately.  It was unlikely that the mission had been called off, but Napoleon still held a faint hope that it might be the case. He was not prepared for what greeted him as he walked into the office. Waverley was not alone. Seated at the round table was Illya Kuryakin, no longer wearing his white lab coat, but a rather ill fitting jacket and an untidy tie. His glasses were no where to be seen.

 

Napoleon took a seat, leaving a decent space between himself and the Russian. Had he been mistaken in confiding in Kuryakin? Had the scientist reported Napoleon’s fears about the upcoming mission Waverley?

 

He didn’t have long to speculate. “I have some good news for you Mr Solo.” Waverley began, beaming a smile at him. “Our Mr Kuryakin has very kindly volunteered for the ‘Variation on a Theme Affair’ as you have named it. He claims he has had experience in this kind of operation before and feels we have a greater chance of success if we use his expertise.”

 

“You will find it all confirmed in my file, Mr Waverley.” Illya interrupted in a low voice. “You should have the details of all of my previous assignments, including those for the KGB.” He nodded towards a dog eared file that rested on the table beside Waverley’s gnarled hand.  It was thick with several colourful labels stuck to the front.

 

Illya’s file, Napoleon realised with a start, and almost twice the size of his own.  Unable to believe what he was hearing, Napoleon felt somehow deceived by Kuryakin.  Had he been secretly laughing while Napoleon poured out his misgivings? Why hadn’t the Russian said anything? Admittedly he had mentioned working on cases such as this but Napoleon had assumed he meant in the lab. However Illya had not been talking about other agents when he gave his advice; he’d been speaking about himself.  Napoleon looked from Kuryakin to Waverley in disbelief. 

“But he’s a scientist!” Napoleon exclaimed, “Isn’t he?”

 

“That is true Mr Solo, Mr Kuryakin transferred to us in that capacity but he worked as a field agent in England.”

 

“Has he completed Survival School? He can’t take an assignment until he has completed Survival School.” In the back of his mind, Napoleon wondered why he was protesting. If Kuryakin took the assignment then Napoleon would be spared. But something felt wrong.

 

“Quite so Mr Solo, however My Kuryakin completed Survival School several years ago.  He even bettered some of your scores, so you can see we have no doubt about his field ability.”  Waverley sat back with a satisfied look.  “It is quite fortuitous that Mr Kuryakin volunteered for this Affair, is it not?”

 

Napoleon looked from Waverley then back to the quiet Russian. If there was duplicity here and he doubted it was Illya’s doing.  There had been genuine surprise and sympathy when Napoleon had voiced his concerns about the assignment. His honest and heartfelt advice had been offered in good faith.  Waverley on the other hand must have known what was in Kuryakin’s file. A Russian would not have been assigned to UNCLE HQ without his background being thoroughly examined.  Napoleon suddenly realised he had been set up. He was nothing more than a pawn in the game taking place before him. The question was; why hadn’t Waverley approached Illya himself? 

 

“Mr Solo, I want you to work with Mr Kuryakin on this affair. Go over the file with him. Make sure he knows what’s required.”

 

“Yes, Sir” Napoleon looked at Illya who was waiting patiently. “Umm, we’ll talk in my office. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” He gestured towards Waverley. “There are a couple of things I need to clear up first.”

 

“Of course Napoleon,” Illya replied.  He rose silently, smiled briefly, and left the room without another word. Napoleon waited for the door to shut before he turned back to Waverley.

 

“Why didn’t you just ask him to do it, Sir?” Napoleon asked, his voice low as he tried to keep his anger from showing. He disliked being used. “Why use me to set this up?”

 

Waverley raised his eyebrows.  “I don’t care for your tone of voice Mr Solo. There is a very good reason why we could not approach Mr Kuryakin openly to undertake this assignment. Despite his training and field experience, he is NOT a field agent. He came to us as a scientist and that is all we can expect of him. It was necessary for him to volunteer, to ask to be considered for this assignment. And I do stress ‘considered’; there was no certainty we would accept his proposal.”

 

Napoleon shook his head, not convinced Waverley was being completely honest with him. Of course they wanted Illya for the assignment and were hardly going to refuse his offer.

 

“I don’t understand Sir. If Illya worked in the field in England, then how did he end up here in the Section 8? Did he do something wrong? Was he demoted?” A horrid thought crossed Napoleon’s mind. Was Illya suspected of holding KGB sympathies even now?

 

“There was nothing sinister about it Mr Solo. Mr Kuryakin requested to be withdrawn from the field. Therefore, the only way he could be considered for field work again was by his own request.”

 

“I see,” Napoleon thought about Waverley’s explanation; it made sense. “But that still doesn’t explain why Illya would suddenly ask to go back into the field now, for this particular assignment.” It was hardly something most men would rush to do, regardless of their training.

 

“Ah, but it does, Mr Solo. This is the one assignment that he knows we can not refuse him. We have no one better qualified to undertake it. So you see; there are no losers. UNCLE gets the benefit of Mr Kuryakin’s particular expertise and he gets the opportunity to go back to the field. It’s mutually beneficial Mr Solo.”

 

Something still didn’t feel quite right to Napoleon. “But why did he request to be taken out of the field initially? What happened?” He glanced at the file sitting under Waverley’s hand. The answers were there, but only Mr Waverley and Jack Pallister were privileged enough read them.

 

Waverley noticed Napoleon’s look and bared his teeth again in what was supposed to pass for a smile. “You can ask him that yourself Mr Solo, if you are so interested.” He stood up; his patience with Napoleon’s questioning had reached an end. “I suggest you get to work on the case at hand. Not only will you will provide backup for Mr Kuryakin but I want you to report on how he performs. We value your assessment and we will take it into consideration if he should apply for permanent field placement.” He hesitated a moment then added, “One other thing; I want Mr Kuryakin wired for this Affair. You will need to listen in while he is with Monroe. Watch for anything he might say to make Monroe aware of what we are doing. I don’t think Mr Kuryakin is a leak but he is an unknown as far as we are concerned. We need to know if the Affair goes awry.”

 

 

 

Part 4

 

Napoleon was almost to his office when he was intercepted by Sam Preston a fellow agent who shared the office.

 

“I was just coming to look for you. That Russian, Kuryakin, is waiting at your desk. Don’t know what he is doing there, but Ted is keeping an eye on him so he doesn’t get a chance to nose around.”  Preston narrowed his eyes slightly. “I know he’s working for us but I don’t completely trust him.”

 

Preston’s sentiments were shared by many. Napoleon had never given it much thought before today but suddenly found the words offensive. If Preston only knew what Illya was preparing to do for UNCLE he’d never doubt him.  Another thought occurred to Napoleon; was this some sort of test devised by Waverley and Pallister to test their new Russian’s dedication?

 

Napoleon found Illya waiting quietly at his desk, hands folded in lap staring at the wall. Ted Robinson was standing guard over him, his six foot two frame dwarfing the petite Russian. Illya looked like a naughty schoolboy summoned to the principal’s office.  But looks were deceiving and Napoleon knew that Kuryakin was older than he appeared. He must be close to my own age if he holds a PhD, is a Survival School graduate and a seasoned field agent, Napoleon thought. He would be well advised not to make the mistake of underestimating the Russian.

 

“It’s all right Ted, we’re working on a case.” Napoleon said amicably. The big agent muttered something under his breath and stomped back to his own desk.  

 

Napoleon took his seat and unlocked his desk draw. “Sorry about that,” he said quietly to Illya as he handed him the Monroe file.

 “Do not worry Napoleon,” was Illya’s short reply. “I’m used to it.”   He studied the first few pages of the file before stopping at the 8x4 black and white photo of their target.  “That’s him?” 

Napoleon nodded.  Illya darted a look over his shoulder and then back to Napoleon. He doesn’t want to discuss this in front of those two, Napoleon realised, surprised at how easily he had read the blue eyes.  It was a valid request. Napoleon doubted he’d want his fellow agents to know the nature of the Affair if he was still involved. These men were his friends but Napoleon had no idea how they would view something like this. Regardless of the fact that they were acting on Waverley’s orders on a case, the stigma of homosexuality was one that no man would welcome. Illya’s caution was probably advisable.

 

“Gentlemen, could you give us an hour. This case is ‘need to know’ only; the Old Man’s orders.” It wasn’t exactly true, but Napoleon was confident Waverley would back him up.  

 

Preston and Robinson left amid raised eyebrows and mutters.  It was one of the drawbacks of sharing an office.  Privacy always came at a price, usually to the disadvantage of others.  It was yet another reason that Napoleon had his sights set on the CEA position. It came with its own office; no more sharing.

 

“Which one is your partner?” Illya asked after the door had closed. 

 

“Neither. I don’t work with a partner. I prefer to work alone.”

 

“Solo by name and Solo by nature,” the Russian quipped.

 

“That joke is old, Illya.”

 

“But true nonetheless,” Kuryakin added.

 

Napoleon conceded with a graceful bow of his head. “Now what did you want to ask that couldn’t be said in front of those two?”

 

“Do we know what sort of men Monroe likes? What his tastes run to? Does he pay or simply pick men up.”

 

Napoleon turned to the back of the file where there were more photos of Monroe taken with several young men. Simple shots, taken as the men were leaving a building or standing talking on the pavement. 

 

“None of them are known male prostitutes. This fellow is an accountant, this one a bank clerk, that one a graduate student in literature.”

 

“Young, bright and conservative.” Illya said. “Where were these taken?”

 

“Outside an establishment called The Rose. It seems to be a club of sorts, according to the surveillance reports.  It’s where Monroe goes to find his …liaisons.”

 

“Do you know it?” Illya asked studying the photos again.

 

“No, why would I know it?” Napoleon protested quickly.

 

“Napoleon, I am not casting aspersions on your manhood.  I do not know where this place is and I will need to find out something about it beforehand. You will have to tell me where to go. I do not know your city very well. That is all.”

 

“Oh, sorry, I‘m just a little….on edge about this whole thing. It’s all been rather surprising.  Why didn’t you say you had done this before when we were talking in the lab?”

 

“I did try, but you didn’t seem to understand.” Illya said quietly.

 

Napoleon shook his head “No I didn’t and I don’t understand why you volunteered to do this now.”

 

“It is simple; I am the best one to do it. It was obvious to me that you didn’t stand a chance of succeeding. “

 

“Well thank you for the vote of confidence!”

 

“It’s true.  Besides, I doubt Monroe would have even bothered with you once he sensed your inexperience. If this is to be his last chance at sex before he leaves the country then he will not want to waste it breaking in a virgin. He’ll be looking for someone with experience who can match him in bed. If you were in his place, wouldn’t you look for such a woman?”

 

“Yes, I see your point.”

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon studying the file until Robert Miller knocked on the door. Miller was the fourth agent who shared the office. He had just returned from a surveillance assignment and was eager to type up his report so he could go home.  Napoleon took pity of him. “Give us ten minutes Bob, we’re nearly finished.” He gathered up the papers which had been spread all over the desk and said to Illya. “We may as well call it a night.”

 

“Perhaps you could show me where The Rose is? Customs differ around the world. I am not familiar with what happens here so I must observe first. I will need to go there and watch how men approach each other, see what the cues are.”

 

“Really?” Napoleon asked, surprised at how much more complicated it was than approaching a woman. He remembered his date with Mandy. “Ah… well all right. I have a date later but you can follow me there in your car. That way you can stay as long as you like. If you need to go back another night you’ll know the way.”

 

“I don’t have a car Napoleon.” Illya said flatly.

 

“Oh well, that changes things. I guess you’ll have to come in mine.” It shouldn’t take too long, Napoleon calculated and he would still be back in time to meet Mandy for dinner.

 

“I am sorry about this.” Illya said pulling on his rumpled jacket that had been discarded while they worked. “You can just drop me there. I am sure I can find my way home afterwards.”

 

Napoleon knew he was going to regret asking the next question. “Where do you live?”

 

“Greenwich Village.”

 

“That’s the other side of town!” Napoleon shook his head. “No, I’ll wait and take you home. It’s probably not wise to hang around there too long.”

 

“I’d be all right Napoleon. I can look after myself.” Illya insisted.

 

Napoleon thought of Illya’s history. “I’m sure you can, but Waverley would have my hide if this Affair was compromised.”  With a sigh he reached for the phone. “Just let me cancel my date with Mandy first.”

 

 

 

Part 5

 

It was almost dark when Napoleon parked his car across from The Rose. It was a nondescript place, easily missed if you did not know to look for the small painted sign of a lavender rose that hung above the doorway. The single door was closed tight. The place looked deserted.

 

“It’s probably too early.” Illya offered. “Perhaps we should come back later.”

 

“I think you’re right. How about we get something to eat and then come back?”

 

“You don’t have to worry, Napoleon, I can take the bus now that I know where it is.”

 

“Nonsense, I’m working with you on this.” He paused, wondering how Illya would react to his next revelation. “Oh and Waverley wants you wired when you go undercover. Just in case anything goes wrong.”

 

“Wired? Who will be listening?”

 

“Just me,” _unfortunately_, Napoleon added silently. “We’ll hide a microphone on you somewhere. I can monitor you from the car.”

 

“That’s not going to be easy. Most mikes are worn under your clothes, but since I will have to take them off it might be a bit noticeable.” Illya grinned. “And before you get any smart ideas they are a lot bigger than those tracking devices.”

 

Napoleon shook his head in an effort to banish the images that were forming in his head. He really didn’t want to picture the man sitting next to him naked. He started the car. “We can spend the day in the lab tomorrow and work something out. Let’s get some dinner.”

 

They found a diner not too far away and spent the next hour eating and talking about anything but the Affair.  The status quo was re-established as Napoleon chattered on about this and that while Illya listened quietly and tucked into the house special.

 

By the time they drove back to The Rose, Napoleon had almost forgotten about the nature of the Affair.  The street was still deserted, the door shut tight. They parked down the road in a spot that offered a clear view of the entrance.  They did not have to wait long before two men came around the corner and made their way to the club’s door. They knocked and a peep hole opened. Napoleon wished he was closer to hear what was being said. After a moment the door opened and the men went inside.

 

“Interesting,” Illya said quietly.

 

For the next forty minutes, Napoleon and Illya watched as men arrived, alone or in twos or threes. Some would wait and meet up with others on the sidewalk.  They would go up to the door, knock, spend a few moments in conversation with whoever was on the other side and then be admitted.

 

“Looks easy.” Napoleon declared.

 

“Maybe not. Let’s see.” Before Napoleon could stop him, Illya was out the car door and off down the sidewalk. “Are you coming?” he called casually.

 

Cursing under his breath, Napoleon hurried to catch up. “What are you doing?”

 

“Going in. That _was_ the idea.”

 

“But what if Monroe arrives?” Napoleon protested. He really did _not_ want to see what was taking place on the other side of that door.

 

“It will help with my cover when I pick him up. Now play along.”

 

Illya knocked on the door and the peep hole opened. A face peered out, dark eyed and wary.  “Yeah?” The man was obviously some sort of doorman.

 

“Hello, we’d like to come in please. Would you mind opening the door?” Illya said.

 

 The doorman narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

 

Perhaps Illya’s blunt approach was not the best.  “We’ve heard so much about this place. It comes highly recommended,” Napoleon interrupted, all charm and smiles.  

 

“Oh yeah?” The doorman turned to Napoleon and sized him up.

 

“Yes, a friend mentioned it to us. He said we’d feel right at home.”

 

“This friend got a name?” The doorman looked back and forth between the two men, his face clouding in a scowl.

 

“John.” Napoleon replied.  

 

“Clear off.” The doorman declared roughly. “We don’t let Rent in here.” With that he slammed the peep hole shut.

 

Napoleon looked at Illya, bewildered. “What did he mean by that?” 

 

“He thought we were male prostitutes.” Illya grinned as he looked Napoleon up and down. “In that suit you could easily be mistaken as a high class male escort.”

 

“Oh really?” Napoleon suspected he was being made fun of. “And what does that make you?” he threw back, looking Illya up and down in much the same manner.

 

“Rough trade,” the Russian replied dryly.

 

“Well, that was useless.” Napoleon said as they made their way back to the car.

 

“Not at all. At least we know entry is either by invitation or password.”

 

“That’s all very well, but how do we find out? There was nothing in the file about passwords.”  Napoleon started the car. There was no point staying any longer.

 

“Don’t worry Napoleon, I have an idea that might work out very well.” Illya began, settling back into his seat. “I will wait outside until I see Monroe coming, approach him and ask him if he would invite me in. I’ll tell him I am in town on business and a friend was going to meet me here but he hasn’t turned up.” Illya paused for a few moments and watched the passing traffic. “It might actually work out better this way. If I can pick him up before he goes inside I won’t have to worry about competition.”

 

“You’ll have to do something about your attire, though.” Napoleon glanced sideways, “Those other fellows were smart dressers. I’ll ask Waverley to authorise an expense account.”

 

Illya muttered something in Russian before conceding “Yes, Napoleon. Can you recommend a good tailor?”

 

 

 

Part 6

 

“How do you get to work each day? It must take you hours.” Napoleon declared as he pulled up in front of Illya’s apartment in Greenwich Village.

 

“You public transport system is quite efficient” Illya replied. “Would you like to come up for a drink?”

 

It was too early to call it a night but too late to try and rekindle the date with Mandy that he had cancelled earlier. “Yes thank you, but just one.” Napoleon told himself he was simply being sociable but he was curious to see where Illya lived. You could tell a lot about a man from his décor.

 

The flat was Spartan and appeared to be furnished from a second hand shop. But what alarmed Napoleon the most was the fact that there was no security system. One more thing he would have to have rectified if Illya was going to work in the field.

 

“Please sit down,” Illya called as he hurried off toward the kitchen.

 

Napoleon eyed the two mismatched sofa chairs that provided the only seating and he chose one.

 

“Would you like tea of Vodka?” Illya asked, poking his head around the corner. “No coffee, I am sorry. I do not get many visitors.”

 

“Vodka will do thanks.” Napoleon replied. He preferred it mixed rather than straight but it would do far better than tea after the day he’d had. He settled down in the surprisingly comfortable chair and pondered the day’s revelations. Illya Kuryakin had turned out to be quite an enigma! The seemingly shy, introverted Russian had a secret life that Napoleon could only begin to imagine. He wondered if anyone else at UNCLE suspected the dour scientist had a whole other side. What he would give to get a glimpse at Illya’s file!

 

“Here you are, Napoleon.” Illya held out a glass filled with a generous shot of vodka.  He pulled a small coffee table between the two chairs before returning to the kitchen for his own glass and the vodka bottle. This he placed on the table between them. “Zah Vas!” he said raising his glass towards Napoleon before downing it in one swallow.

 

Napoleon repeated the salutation but took a more cautious sip, not sure he wanted to enter into a drinking competition with the Russian.

 

Illya smiled. “Where I grew up, vodka was much stronger - ninety percent proof. This is like water to me.” He poured himself another glass but took this one a little slower.

 

“So how did you get into all of this?” Napoleon asked. It was one of the many questions that had been puzzling him all day.

 

“UNCLE?”  Illya asked, sipping his vodka.

 

“No…the assignment, the ….seduction.” Napoleon didn’t really know what the correct term was for what Illya was going to do.”

 

“Ah, the ‘Compromise Operation’. That is what we called it back in Russia. The idea was to compromise the target and then blackmail him to do the bidding of the KGB.”

 

“How did you come to be involved? Did you volunteer for that too?”  The words came out a little harder than Napoleon intended but he couldn’t imagine anyone doing such work voluntarily.

 

Illya took a large drink of his vodka and shook his head. “No, it wasn’t by choice. I was given no option.”

 

“I don’t understand?” 

 

“I joined the Russian Navy when I was sixteen. I wasn’t really suited to life at sea. For one thing I got terribly seasick. I was small for my age and had a hard time fitting in.” Illya drained his glass again and poured another. “There was a Lieutenant on board; he took me under his wing as you say. I looked up to him. We became…friends.”

 

“Friends?” Napoleon queried. He felt a shiver travel up his spine, suddenly afraid of where this was going.

 

“Intimate friends,” Illya clarified.  His eyes took on a distant look. “Not long after I was approached by the KGB. They had photos. They said if I didn’t work for them, they would expose us both. I had no choice.”

 

“My God!” Napoleon drained his own glass and stared at Illya. “But you were just a boy. That Lieutenant took advantage of you! Why didn’t you report him? You couldn’t be held responsible if you were seduced. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“Napoleon, he didn’t take advantage of me, I was willing. I was in love with him.”

 

“Love? But, you’re not…” Napoleon’s mouth went dry.

 

Illya fixed him with his brilliant blue stare. “I am Napoleon.”

 

“Oh.”

 

The room fell silent and Napoleon was suddenly aware that neither of them were able to say the word; homosexual.  The stigma, the stain was universal and even Illya, who had just confessed that he had _loved_ another man, still could not give it a name.

 

“If you would rather not be my partner on this Affair, I quite understand.” Illya dropped his eyes and stared into his vodka. “I am sure that given the circumstances Mr Waverley will understand also.”

 

“Does Waverley know?” Napoleon asked.

 

Illya shrugged. “I imagine so. It is probably in my file. If not, then he would have drawn his own conclusions given the type of work I do.”  He looked up at Napoleon, blue eyes sad. “I thought you had realised too.”

 

“No, I didn’t.”

 

Illya swirled the vodka in his glass. “Is it going to be a problem?” he asked quietly.

 

“No. I’m open minded.” Napoleon wasn’t sure he could have said that before today but things had changed. “I’ve just never met anyone who was …” he stopped suddenly not wanting to say anything that would offend Illya. Was the word itself taboo. Only one way to find out, he thought. “Who was a homosexual.” He said it quickly, his voice wavering.

 

“You’ve never met anyone who you _knew_ was a homosexual.” Illya amended sadly.

 

“Touché,” replied Napoleon and raised his glass. They smiled at each other across the small table and Napoleon felt the awkwardness ease a little. He let out a breath that he was holding.  Perhaps they could get through this; complete the Affair and then let everything go back to how it had been.  But could it ever be the same again?

 

Napoleon wondered if he could sit across the table and eat his lunch knowing what he did about the man in front of him. He dismissed the thought quickly. Here he was, sitting in Illya’s apartment drinking vodka. The cafeteria would be a piece of cake.

 

“So what happened to the Lieutenant, the one you…loved?”  Napoleon asked breaking the silence that had once more gathered around them.

 

Illya shook his head and let out a sigh. “I found out some time later that he was working for the KGB all along. It was part of his assignment to look for young men like myself and … compromise them.”

 

“That must have been…” _heartbreaking, soul destroying_? Napoleon shook his head. There was no word to describe the betrayal that Illya must have felt. Had he ever been able to trust anyone since? 

 

Illya shrugged. “It was probably not his fault. He may have been compromised in the same way by another operative. That’s how the KGB works.”

 

Napoleon let the words sink in. “And you? Did you have to _compromise_ innocent young men too?” He felt sickened by the very thought.

 

“No, I was spared that.” Illya gave a tight little laugh. “They said my youthful looks and…beauty, should not be wasted on small fry. They saved me for the bigger fish. I didn’t like it but I had no choice.”

 

And now here he was, forced to do something very similar. At least his heart wasn’t involved. Suddenly a whole new set of questions filled Napoleons head.

 

“So, do you have someone now?”

 

“You mean a boyfriend?” 

 

Napoleon nodded.

 

“No,” Illya said with a shake of his head. “It is too dangerous.”

 

“What about women? Do you like women?” Napoleon dropped his gaze to the ring on Illya’s finger. He had wondered about it before, but Illya had never mentioned a wife and Napoleon had never bothered to ask.

 

“I have no problem with women as long as they leave me alone.” Seeing Napoleon’s interest he held up his hand.  “And before you ask, no I am not and never was married. I wear this to keep them away.”

 

Napoleon couldn’t help smiling. He’d seen the way women were drawn to Illya during their lunch breaks. It was one of the reasons that Napoleon had started sharing his table in the first place; it was a given that sooner or later some woman would come over and try to chat up the quiet Russian. Of course Illya never took the bait and Napoleon was left to offer his comforts. He’d had a few fruitful conquests thanks to Illya’s indifference.

 

Napoleon finished off his vodka and declined another when Illya held up the bottle again. “I’d better head home. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.” Napoleon glanced at the vodka bottle then back Illya. “We’ll make an early start in the lab.”

 

Illya nodded and smiled. “Don’t worry Napoleon. I won’t drink too much.”  He stood up, slightly unsteady on his feet and followed Napoleon to the door. “Just enough to keep the ghosts away.”

 

Napoleon reached the door but turned back. “What was his name? The Lieutenant?”

 

The question clearly confused Illya, who frowned. “Andrei Beninski. Why?”

 

“So that I’ll know the bastard if I ever meet him.” Napoleon replied as he walked out the door.

 

 

 

Part 7

 

Over the next few days Napoleon and Illya worked out the finer details of the Variation on a Theme Affair.  Since Monroe was due to fly out on Sunday they would try their luck on the Friday night. If Monroe didn’t show or didn’t take the bait, that still left Saturday night for Illya to try one more time.

 

It was agreed they would check in to a nearby hotel as part of Illya’s cover story of being an insurance agent in town for a meeting. It would also provide a place for Illya to take Monroe should it be needed.

 

Napoleon arranged for Illya to have access to an expense account to buy new clothes. The dour Russian expressed his shock at the frivolous use of agency funds but conceded that he had nothing suitable in his own wardrobe. He drew the line at Napoleon accompanying him on the shopping spree but managed to return with something that met with Napoleon’s approval.

 

A way to attach a listening wire to Illya remained a problem until Napoleon had an idea.  He found Illya in the lab bent over a bench working on the last of the freckles.

Napoleon opened his wallet and pulled out a chain with a silver St Christopher medal dangling from the end.

 

“Is this big enough to hide a listening device?”

 

Illya glanced at the medal and shrugged.  “I am not a religious man, Napoleon.”

 

“Well Monroe isn’t going to know that, is he? For all he knows you spend every Sunday on your knees in church asking forgiveness for what you did Saturday Night.”  

 

Illya rolled his eyes.  

 

“It’s a St Christopher medal.” Napoleon continued. “My Aunt gave it to me for my First Communion. Lots of men wear them. He’s the patron Saint of travellers.”

 

Illya took the medal in his hand. “St Chrisofos; I know who he is.” It was patterned on both sides and hollow in the middle. He examined it closely. “It just might work, but I would have to cut it in half, place the device inside and then weld it back together.”  He gave it back to Napoleon.  “You wouldn’t mind?”

 

Napoleon looked at the medal that lay in his open palm remembering the occasion on which it had been presented to him. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He had worn it for many years including the time he spent in Korea. It was only when he joined UNCLE that he had put it away.  Although UNCLE's ideals were moral, their methods were often not.  Agents were called upon to steal, to kill, to seduce, in effect to break just about every commandment in the name of Justice and World Peace.  Napoleon knew that what he did was for the greater good but at first he had found it hard to ignore his Catholic guilt. The St Christopher medal had become a constant burr on his conscience. In the end it was easier to take it off and put it away. He handed the medal back to Illya.

 

“Take it. Do whatever is necessary.”  It had served him well for many years. Perhaps it could keep Illya safe this time.

 

 

Part 8

 

Late Friday afternoon saw Napoleon and Illya checking into the Plaza Hotel, a plush establishment within walking distant of The Rose. Napoleon was forced to flash his UNCLE badge at the manager when the man raised his eyebrows speculatively at their request for a single room with a double bed.  The last thing they needed was for the house detective to come snooping in the middle of the night. 

 

It was typical of UNCLE’s frugality that they were expected to share a room. Napoleon had done so with fellow agents on several occasions but wondered what Illya’s reaction would be. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

 

“You don’t have a problem with this do you Napoleon?” Illya asked as he stood in front of the double bed eyeing it speculatively.  They would probably have to share it later that night once they had finished with Monroe.

 

“Not at all,” Napoleon replied. “I had to share a bed with Ted Robinson once. You’ve seen the size of him. It was like sleeping with an elephant and twice as noisy. That man can snore! You’ll make a pleasant change. Do you have a problem with it?”

 

“Of course not,” Illya dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “I will have no trouble resisting your legendary charms.  You’re not my type!”

 

Napoleon grinned. He liked this easy banter that was developing between them. Illya’s dry sense of humour and quick wit were a match for Napoleon’s own.  It had served them well as they negotiated the mine field left by Illya’s recent admissions. 

 

“Well I’m relieved to hear it and I am sure the young ladies at HQ will be too. It means they still stand a chance with you.”

 

Illya shook his head and wandered over to look out the window.  “I’d best get ready. There are a couple of things I need to do beforehand. Why don’t you go down to the bar for a while, Napoleon and I’ll meet you there when I am finished?”

 

“I’ll stay and help.” Napoleon declared. “I’m great with knotting ties; Windsor, half Windsor, four-in-hand and Shelby.”

 

Illya ran a hand through his fair hair. “What I need is privacy.”

 

“I don’t understand. What can’t you do with me here?”

 

“If you have to ask then you don’t want to know. Just go Napoleon.” And with that Illya shooed him towards the door.

 

Napoleon’s was not the only head that turned when Illya walked into the bar a couple of hours later. Napoleon had always known that ‘the clothes maketh the man’ but he was not prepared for the change they had made to Illya.  He looked stunning and Napoleon remembered what Illya had told him a few nights ago; he’d been recruited for his youthful looks and beauty. Both were clearly on display now.  Napoleon realised another thing; Illya hid his looks by dressing in his shabby suit and hiding behind those ridiculous glasses. In the same way that a plain man might make himself more noticeable by dressing up, Illya deliberately chose to dress down as a means of camouflage. 

 

“Do I pass you inspection?” Illya asked nervously as he sat down at Napoleon’s table.

 

“Quite presentable.” Napoleon offered, resisting the urge to reach across and straighten the tie. The slightly crooked look actually added a rather endearing quality making the man before him appear less perfect and more approachable. It would hopefully work in their favour.

 

“But do you think Monroe will be interested?”

 

It took Napoleon a moment to gather his thoughts and he disguised this by inspecting Illya’s attire again.  He was not used to critiquing men in this way.  Had Illya been an opponent he was about to fight he could have assessed his strengths [speed, agility, soviet training] and his weaknesses [smaller, lighter].  Had Illya been a rival for a woman’s attention, Napoleon could have also made an assessment: good looking, witty but too sarcastic, quiet bordering on shy.  But having to think about how another man would view him gave Napoleon pause.

 

Dressed in a simple navy suit, with white shirt and matching silk tie there was no denying Illya’s looks now that they were not disguised behind those horrible glasses and awful clothes. He was not ruggedly handsome; his chin was a little on the weak side for that. Pretty was probably a better term although Napoleon had never thought of a man in those terms before.  He thought back to the photos of the young men with Monroe; fine featured, neatly dressed. Yes Illya would not be out of place there.  But there was more to it than that; some other quality about Illya that, dressed as he was, drew attention. Even Napoleon couldn’t deny that Illya stood out in the room, his blond hair catching the light just so, his blue eyes reflecting the colour of his suit.  He knew women who were masters of this illusion, who knew how to make heads turn no matter where they went.  Illya wasn’t playing it to quite that extent, but it was there. Was this part of his training? Did the KGB run courses in this sort of thing?  Perhaps, but there had to be an innate quality there to start with, something that could be built upon. Illya had it, whatever _IT_ was and he obviously knew how to use it to effect.

 

“Napoleon?” Illya asked again, still waiting for an answer.

 

“I don’t think you’ll have any problem attracting anybody’s attention, Illya.” Napoleon said truthfully. “Just be thankful that the girls from HQ aren’t here. You’d never make it out of the lobby.”

 

 

Part 9

 

Napoleon’s prediction about attracting attention proved correct.  Illya attracted the attention of almost every man that approached the door of The Rose that night.  As he stood on the sidewalk a few yards away Illya was propositioned time and again. Napoleon cringed at some of the pick-up lines and wondered if he sounded as crass when he used similar advances on women.  It gave him a new understanding of what the female of the species had to endure each day.  Through it all Illya remained polite. His reply was always the same. “Thank you, but no. I am waiting for a friend to arrive.”

 

The wire was working well and Napoleon had no trouble picking up the voices on a cigarette case communicator that had been adapted to receive the signal on a special channel. His only regret was that Illya could not hear him.  They could have shared a private joke about some of the characters who had passed Illya’s way.  It would have helped ease the tension while they waited. 

 

Napoleon had parked his car further down the road where he could watch Illya while he waited outside. Surveillance was not one of his favourite roles. He preferred to be in the thick of things, risking life and limb, feeling the rush of adrenalin, living by his wits.  Sitting and waiting was never easy for him. And then there was the listening.

Napoleon had deliberately avoided thinking about this aspect of the Affair. He was not looking forward to eavesdropping on Illya and Monroe in the bedroom later.

 

As if on cue Monroe appeared at the corner.

 

“I see him,” Illya’s whispered voice crackled over the communicator. Monroe was almost to the door of The Rose before Illya approached him.

 

Napoleon held his breath.  Illya made his move.

 

“Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could help me out.” Illya began, his Russian accident carefully disguised. It had been one of the first things they agreed on for Illya’s cover; that he should not appear too foreign. The accent he was using now sounded more English than anything.

 

“I’m in town on business and a friend was supposed to meet me here but it seems I’ve been stood up. The doorman won’t let me in because he doesn’t know me. I wonder if you would be so kind as to introduce me.”

 

Monroe didn’t answer immediately and Napoleon, too far away to see exactly what was happening could only imagine that Monroe was probably checking Illya out.

 

When he finally spoke his voice was low and husky. “I can’t imagine why anyone would stand you up, my dear. Come on. It would be my pleasure to escort you inside. We can have a drink together.”  Monroe walked to the door and knocked. Illya followed.

 

So much for hoping they could avoid the club, Napoleon thought. At least Illya wouldn’t have to worry about competition if the arm that Monroe snaked around his waist as they disappeared inside was any indication.

 

There was more background noise now, the hum of voices, soft music, the clink of glasses.

 

“Have you been here before?” Monroe asked after he ordered drinks.

 

“No, a friend mentioned it and said he would take me next time I was in town.”

 

“A good friend?”

 

“I thought he was. We…meet…whenever I am in New York.”

 

“Well his loss is my gain.” 

 

The repartee went on, back and forth. Monroe flirting; Illya doing the same.

 

Napoleon lit a cigarette.

 

“Shall we go back to my place?” Monroe asked, forty minutes and two martinis later.

 

“I’d like that.” Illya replied.

 

_Why can’t my dates be as accommodating?_ Napoleon wondered.

 

Napoleon trailed them in his car back to Monroe’s apartment and parked across the road.  Now the game would start in earnest.

 

From the sound of it, Monroe got down to business the moment the door closed.  Napoleon heard a short gasp from Illya and then the sounds of kissing, wet and messing, amplified by the mike. 

 

Napoleon felt a flash of worry until Illya’s voice broke through again.

 

“You don’t waste any time.” Napoleon wondered if the comment was for his benefit. Did Illya want him to know things were all right?

 

“Too fast?” Monroe asked, “Let’s sit down.”

 

“Yes, that would be better. I’d prefer not to do it up against the wall.”

 

Napoleon hated the man.

 

The kissing sounds were back again and Napoleon wondered where Monroe’s manners were. The least he could do was offer Illya a drink before ravishing him.

 

It moved quickly after that. The rustle of clothing, sighs and gasps and groans.

 

“I want you.” Monroe whispered.

 

“Yes,” Illya answered.

 

Napoleon realised the car windows were fogging up. He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable.  His imagination was working overtime.

 

Illya’s voice caught in a little gasp of pain.

 

“You’re really tight.” Monroe again. “Been a while since that last visit with your friend?”

 

“Yes, a while. Take it a bit slower please.”

 

And that was the end of the talking.  Hard sharp breaths, the slip and slap of skin on skin and the raw sounds of sex filled the car. Napoleon felt it deep in his groin. He had never imagined himself a voyeur but he couldn’t deny the arousal coursing through his blood.  He loosened his tie and wound the window down to get some fresh air.  It’s understandable, he reasoned with himself. Sex is sex. Men always respond to it, don’t they?

 

Some small still-rational part of his brain wondered if Illya had been able to plant the tracking devices but Monroe’s harsh shout of orgasm chased that thought away instantly. Napoleon waited, torn and confused, hoping that Illya would achieve some sort of pleasure from this too but reluctant to eavesdrop on something so private. He counted the seconds in his head.  Surely Monroe was enough of a gentleman to see to that consideration at least.  Illya was near silent when he came, a strangled gasp that ended in a something like a sob.

 

Napoleon took a deep breath and lit another cigarette.

 

“You don’t make much noise,” Monroe commented and Napoleon wondered if Illya had remained silent because he knew he was monitored.  If the situation was reversed Napoleon would probably do the same.

 

Illya didn’t answer Monroe’s question. Instead he asked, “Do you mind if I clean up?”

 

“The bathroom’s down the hall, second door.”

 

Silence except for the sound of Illya’s laboured breathing. A door opening, closing. Then Illya’s quiet whisper “Five.”

 

Napoleon smiled. Five bugs planted. Monroe was fast but Illya was faster. Napoleon wondered when he’d found the opportunity.

 

The sound of water running, a door opening and Monroe’s voice again.

 

“Hope you don’t mind. Thought we could share the shower.”

 

Napoleon closed his eyes and settled in for round two.

 

 

 

Part 10

 

“I’m going to take a shower,” Illya said the moment he stepped through the door of their hotel room.

 

“Go ahead. I’ll set the locks and report in.” Napoleon didn’t mention that Illya had already taken one back at Monroe’s.  

 

They had barely spoken in the car on their way back to the hotel.  Napoleon had surreptitiously assessed Illya’s condition as he got into the car. He looked a little rumpled and there was a button missing from his shirt.  “Are you all right,” Napoleon asked carefully.

 

“I’m fine” was the short reply. Illya looked out the passenger window, refusing to meet his eye.

 

“Cigarette?” Napoleon offered, trying to break through the wall that Illya had erected.

 

Illya turned and glared at him. “I don’t smoke,” he said before turning away again.

 

The rest of the trip passed in silence.

 

While Napoleon listened to the shower running he contacted HQ and reported the mission a success.  He asked for the tracking devices to be activated to make sure they were working. He didn’t have to wait long for the confirmation that five signals were being received.  He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed waiting for Illya to finish in the bathroom. He was taking his time. Napoleon was just about to knock and ask again if he was all right when Illya immerged in a cloud of steam and striped pyjamas. His hair was wet.

 

Napoleon jumped off the bed. “HQ reports they are receiving five clear signals. Good work.”

 

“Maybe. We should wait until morning to see if they are still transmitting.” Illya sounded very tired.  

 

“Why don’t you get some rest while I take a shower?” Napoleon looked back to the bed. “Which side do you want?” he asked.

 

Illya shrugged. “This one will do.” He pulled the covers back, climbed in, turned his back to Napoleon and closed his eyes.

 

“You are all right, aren’t you?” Napoleon asked again.

 

“Yes. I’m fine, Napoleon.” The flat reply left no room for further discussion.

 

Napoleon retreated to the bathroom hoping to give Illya some space to deal with his demons.  Lord knows, he had some of his own that needed exorcising.

 

As he stood under the shower he thought about the events of the night, transported back once more to his car where he had listened to what was happening in Monroe’s shower.  The sound of falling water had provided a surreal backdrop and his overworked imagination had been more than enough to conjure its own vivid pictures to accompany the sexual soundtrack supplied by Illya and Monroe.

 

Now, standing there with the water washing over him Napoleon’s arousal returned, sharp and hard. 

 

Waverley had been right when he said it was a variation on a theme. It was one that Napoleon had never considered, until know.  His unexpected reaction confused him as much as the images his fertile mind had created whilst listening to Illya and Monroe.  

 

The easy thing to do would be to jerk off and get it out of his system. Use those images to take care of his frustrations. Let them play out again accompanied by the sounds of lust that still echoed in his head.

 

But it was wrong to use Illya like that. Wrong to take this and turn it into some sick fantasy just to ease his frustration.  Napoleon turned off the hot water and let the cold run over him until it washed away the last of his arousal. 

 

If nothing else, Napoleon could boast that he was very good at not giving way to temptation; when he chose to.  To survive in his field, a man had to have self control.  Napoleon had it and he used it now. By the time he left the bathroom all visions of Illya and Monroe had been firmly locked away.

 

As Napoleon slid into bed one last traitorous thought slipped through his defences; that his light blue silk pyjamas would look much better on Illya. The colour would match his eyes. Under different circumstances Napoleon would turn it into a joke but not tonight.  He could tell that Illya was still awake, his ragged breathing and rigid pose a clear sign of his unease. Illya was hurting either physically or mentally. Possibly both, Napoleon amended. He didn’t know what to do about it.

 

If Illya was a woman, Napoleon would know how to handle the situation. You could hold a woman in your arms in a purely platonic way even when lying in bed. You could offer them comfort and make them feel safe. They liked that; undemanding touches and soft words. He doubted Illya would welcome any sort of touch right now and besides, men didn’t hug each other, at least not in this country.

 

You could listen to women too. They were talkers, pouring out their deepest fears, confiding their secrets, sharing their pain.

 What was Illya feeling right now, what he was thinking? The stolid back turned towards Napoleon was as effective as any brick wall. Perhaps it was better to just give Illya his space and let him deal with this his own way.

But there was one small thing that Napoleon could offer.

 

“We can order room service in the morning,” he whispered.

 

There was a slight rustling as Illya rolled onto his back. “Room service? Really”

 

Napoleon smiled into the darkness. “Yes, whatever you want.”

 

 

 

Part 11

 

They slept late and Napoleon was pleased to find that Illya was in a better mood when he awoke. After taking a shower [again] Illya ordered a monstrous breakfast and systematically ate his way through it all while Napoleon sipped coffee and smiled to himself.

 

The tracking devices were still transmitting their signals and Waverley concluded the Affair was a success. There would be no need for Illya to make a second attempt.

 

Napoleon dropped Illya at his apartment with a plan to meet on Monday at HQ to write their report.

 

“You’d better take this back,” Illya said, as they sat in the car. He handed Napoleon the St Christopher medal.  “You might be able to use it yourself one day.”

 

“Yes, thank you.” Napoleon slipped it into his pocket.

 

An awkward silence descended.  “Well, I’ll see you Monday then,” Illya said quickly and opened the door to leave. “Enjoy your date with Sherry.”

 

“I will and don’t be late Monday. I’m counting on you.”  Napoleon said lightly.

 

Illya turned, eyebrows raised.

 

“To type up the report.” Napoleon grinned “I hope you’re a better typist than I am, because it will take me all day.”

“I’m sure I am better at most things Napoleon,” Illya returned the grin twofold as he got out of the car. “But it will cost you lunch.”

 

With a final glance in the rear view mirror, Napoleon headed back across town thinking of his forthcoming date with Sherry that night. Hopefully, with her help, he would put the Variation on a Theme Affair to bed once and for all.  

 

By eleven am on Monday, Napoleon had managed to type three lines of his report when Illya knocked on the door of his office. He’d meant to make an early start but had ended up staying over at Sherry’s. The evening had been a great success, the morning an even greater one. He had been an hour late checking in but at least Napoleon felt confident that the Variation on a Theme Affair had left no undesired side effects on his masculinity.

 

“Come in, have a seat.” Napoleon said waving Illya into the empty office. “I’ve just started on the report. Do you want to take over?”

 

Illya placed a folder on Napoleon’s desk. “No need Napoleon. I have finished it already.”

 

Napoleon picked up the file. “When did you start this?”

 

“About nine. I looked for you but you weren’t in.” Illya quirked an eyebrow at Napoleon. “I take it that Whiskey kept you up all night?”

 

“It was Sherry and a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”  Napoleon flicked through the report. “You typed this yourself?” he asked, surprised at Illya’s proficiency.

 

“Of course.  I type 100 words a minute.”

 

“KGB training?”

 

“Minsk Business School.” Illya replied with a straight face.

 

Napoleon suspected his leg was being pulled. “Well Waverley will be impressed. He’s always on about my tardy report writing.”

 

“Good thing I signed my name to it, then.”  Illya returned “It wouldn’t do for Mr Waverley to think his opinions of you were wrong.”

 

Napoleon stood.  “Come on. We may as well hand it in right away. The old man will be surprised. Perhaps he will give us both the day off.” Report tucked under his arm, he walked to the door.

 

“I suppose you’ll be applying for permanent field placement now?” Napoleon asked, pausing in the doorway.

 

Illya shook his head. “No, I’m happy to go back to the labs. I don’t want to work in the field.”

 

Napoleon was stunned. “Then why did you volunteer for the Variation on a Theme Affair?” he asked. “I thought it was to get your field agent status reactivated.”

 

“No Napoleon,” Illya began quietly, “I did because I could see that it was distasteful to you. I wanted to help. It was nothing me, I’ve done much worse. But you…well I wanted to spare you that.” He smiled softly. “You’ve been a good friend to me during my time here, one of the few people who took the time to acknowledge me. You sat and talked to me in the cafeteria. It meant a great deal to me and I was happy that I could do this small thing for you.”

 

Napoleon was lost for words. The infrequent lunches and casual exchanges in the halls had held a far greater significance for Illya than Napoleon had ever realised. Was Illya’s life so empty that the small scraps of kindness Napoleon had thrown his way had meant so much?   Napoleon was humbled.  

 

He looked at the man standing before him. They had worked well together on a professional level and Illya had opened Napoleon’s eyes to things he had never imagined. There was a connection between them too, a friendship that had grown despite their many differences.  Napoleon didn’t want to lose that.

 

“Perhaps you could do one more small favour for me?” he asked suddenly.

 

Illya’s blue eyes clouded.  “What Napoleon? Is there another Compromise Affair coming up?”

 

“No, nothing like that,” Napoleon reassured him with a smile.  “But I think we work well together in the field and I hope you’ll consider being my partner again some time. A different type of affair next time; I am sure you have a great many other talents.”

 

“Oh I do,” Illya began in a voice just short of boasting. “I speak several different languages, I am a master of disguises, I’m well trained in a variety of weapons and I am particularly good with explosives.”

 

“And modest too,” Napoleon added.

 

“There’s just one thing though, Napoleon,” Illya turned serious and touched the folder that Napoleon was holding. “Shouldn’t you read my report before you hand it in to Waverley?”

 

“I don’t need to, my friend,” Napoleon placed his arm around Illya’s shoulders. “I trust you.”

 

 

The End

 

JJ August 2008


End file.
